


You Are Not Your Body; I Am Not Your Soul

by delgaserasca



Category: NCIS
Genre: Episode Tag, Gen, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-01
Updated: 2009-03-01
Packaged: 2018-07-16 02:27:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7248433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delgaserasca/pseuds/delgaserasca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ziva, in the aftermath of Dead Man Walking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Are Not Your Body; I Am Not Your Soul

**Author's Note:**

> Post-4x16 (Dead Man Walking). Written for picfor1000.

Ziva is the only witness to Roy's death but for the doctor who calls his time of death and the beeping machines that mere moments before had been monitoring his deteriorating condition. A nurse comes in and turns off the machine, and the doctor leaves, and then there is only Ziva in the room. Roy's is not there; this is what she tells herself again and again.

She turns to leave him where he lies; that body is no longer the man she was so charmed by. Before she goes she takes the hat he'd proffered her - _please, Ziva, for me_ \- and grips it tightly. She lets the nurse at the reception know that Roy's parents may arrive tomorrow and leaves her number so that she can be contacted if they do. Then she leaves the room and the ward and the building and spends five minutes on the curb, breathing deep and blinking the tears from her eyes.

It's the middle of the day; the weather is mild but with a persistent breeze. Cabs drive past her at intervals but she wants to walk it off, this feeling of loneliness that has suddenly come upon her. Her chest feels tight; her mouth is dry. With no real idea of where to go now, she picks a direction and begins to walk. The destination doesn't matter, only that it is not here outside this hospital which houses the room with the bed in which Roy no longer exists.

She stops at a payphone two blocks away, digging into her pocket for change. She would use her cell phone but she's worried that Roy's family might call and she doesn't want to miss them.

The hat in her hand slows her progress but she perseveres and then punches in the number. Gibbs answers on the first ring, as always, and she gives him the inevitable news, quickly and without emotion. "Okay," Gibbs answers, then, "go home Ziva. I'll see you on Monday." He hangs up abruptly and Ziva is grateful for his subtlety. That is why she called him, after all, and not Tony. She is in no state of mind to deal with Tony right now, not his deprecating humour nor his thinly-masked sympathy. She doesn't want that from him, or from anyone else for that matter. She has felt loss before; this is no different.

She begins to walk again, passing suit-clad businessmen and women on their way to and from their office for lunch or meetings or whatever it is that the people like them do on days like these. The winter air pushes people on their way despite the warmth of sun on the sidewalk. Ziva can see dark-clothed bodies for miles around, and - to the east -trees, naked but soon to bud. She thinks of the trees in Tel Aviv, of the way the seasons differ there, and she feels a sharp pang of nostalgia. Her father comes to mind, his features broad and sharp in unexpected places. She hasn't spoken with him since her confrontation with Namir Eschel at the end of summer, and even then the phone call had been a mere formality - an opportunity to verbally verify the report Director Shepherd had recommended she write.

It was Jenny who had orchestrated the communique through MTAC. Ziva's father, chastened by the lack of privacy, had only briefly asked after her and she, still smarting from the knowledge that he had been spying on her, had been short and to the point. The conversation was much the same as any other they shared save the absence of epithets on his side. The memory of it stings her now, but she can't forget what she learned in Gibbs' basement, nor Ari's terrible words, and so she can no longer speak to her father without feeling shame, and horror, and the knowledge that despite these things, she still loves him.

Someone jostles Ziva from her reverie and she finds she has been heading towards the trees. She is in the park now, following the route Roy told her he liked to take, retracing his path. From where she is she can see the bridge where they used to pass and there, further back, her own route. She wonders whether she should change her course now. She wonders if that would be an affront to his memory.

She wonders what her father would think if he could see her now.

She'll have to call him again, this has become clear to her. It's been too long since they have spoken and she feels terribly adrift right now in this country which will never be her own. He will say the wrong thing and she won't tell him what prompted the call, and no doubt it will be the same frustrating endeavour it ever is. But she will have to call him now. Her father is still, after all, her family.

She finds an empty bench, considers how different and yet how similar the landscape is to those she has encountered before. The grass reminds her of Paris, the weather of London; the people remind her of her solitude. Benches remind her of walking with Roy in the hospital garden, and everything reminds her that she is out of sync with the world, homeless wherever she goes.

The hat is garish against her hands; the wool is worn and soft to the touch. It is bunched slightly, springing back from her grip as though she had never touched it. She considers it momentarily, holds it to her face and breathes in the memory of its owner. Her throat constricts and her eyes sting, but she does not cry, not yet. Instead she puts the hat on, pulling the wool over her hair and feeling it slip over her ears. She leans back on the bench and looks up at the cloudless sky; she wonders if Roy would mind this one indulgence. She does not cry.

**end.**   



End file.
